‘John Russell,’ the colonel said, as if curious to hear how it sounded. His accent was Midwestern.
‘And you are?’ Russell asked.
‘Colonel Lindenberg. The attache who deals with intelligence matters,’ he added wryly. ‘I believe you have a proposal for me.’
‘Yes. I’ve worked for your Government before, and I’d like to do so again. In Berlin.’
‘Yes? Why now? We asked you to work for us in 1942, but you refused. What’s changed your mind?’
Russell considered explaining his earlier refusals and decided there wasn’t any point — the reasons he’d given at the time would be in the file. ‘I think I have a better appreciation now of what the Russians are capable of.’
‘Because of what you saw in Berlin?’
‘That, and what I’ve read and heard about their behaviour in other parts of Europe.’
Lindenberg was looking at the file. ‘The Soviets allowed you to accompany the Red Army into Berlin, and then refused to let you report from there,’ he said, looking up with a smile of disbelief.
‘That’s what happened,’ Russell lied. ‘I tried to tell it the way I’d seen it, and they weren’t having it.’
‘That I can understand. But they let you go, and you’ve written nothing about it since.’
‘That was the deal,’ Russell said with a shrug. ‘My family for my silence.’
‘If the Soviets know you that well, what good would you be to us?’
‘Ah, now we come the interesting part. The Soviets have asked me to work for them, and guess what they want me to do? They want me to offer my services to you.’
Lindenberg smiled at that. ‘Okay, I can understand why they’d want a guy of their own in our organization, but why would they choose a journalist who they’ve just had to gag?’
Had that been a knowing smile, Russell wondered. Did Lindenberg already know of his meeting with the Russians? ‘Several reasons,’ he answered. ‘One, there’s hardly a stampede of applicants for a job like that. Two, they think I’m competent. Three, they know I’m having trouble finding work here, and that I want to go back to Berlin. Four, they know from experience that they can buy me off. What they don’t know is that my family is the only thing I’d sell myself for, and they’ll be safe here in England.’
Lindenberg picked up a pen and started rotating it through the fingers of his right hand. ‘Let’s go back to the beginning,’ he said. ‘You’re telling me that your reason for joining us is a new-found resentment of the Soviets?’
‘I didn’t say it was the only reason. My motives are mixed, like most people’s. I want to do my bit, maybe not so much for the West as for Berlin. It’s my home, and it’s been through hell, and it deserves better than a Russian takeover. And I want to help myself. I want to work as a journalist again, and that’s not going to happen here.’
‘Berlin’s no picnic these days.’
‘I know. But if I’m on your payroll, I won’t have to worry about food and accommodation.’
‘You wouldn’t be living in luxury.’
‘Of course not. But it’s hard to do any job well if you’re spending most of your time huddled round a fire wondering where the next meal’s coming from.’
‘True,’ the colonel conceded. ‘So how do you see yourself being useful? As far as I can tell, your work for us consisted of reporting on the political loyalties of a few Germans and Czechs.’
‘And nearly getting killed in Prague for my pains. I don’t know, is the honest answer. I don’t know what you’ll want from me. But I do know Berlin, and I do know a lot of Berliners, quite a few of whom are probably working for the Soviets by now. And I know the Russians, more’s the pity. I think you’ll find me useful, but if you don’t, you can always dispense with my services.’
‘And all you want is feeding and housing?’
‘I presume you pay your agents.’
‘Ah…’
‘I only want the going rate. I don’t expect to get rich, which is more than you can say for most Americans in Berlin. If you need character references I suggest you contact Joseph Kenyon — I assume he’s still at the Embassy in Moscow — or Al Murchison. He was my boss in 1939.’
‘Murchison’s dead. He was killed in the Pacific.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man.’
‘I didn’t know him.’ Lindenberg’s finger brought his rotating pen to a stop, and gave Russell a thoughtful look. ‘I’ll talk to some people,’ he said. ‘Come back on Monday morning and I’ll give you a yes or no.’
Russell stood and offered his hand, which the American took. ‘Have long have you been in England?’ Russell asked him.
‘Too damn long,’ was the predictable reply.
‘Do you trust Shchepkin?’ Effi asked, after Russell had finished describing his meetings with the Russian and Lindenberg. ‘He was the one who got you into all this.’
‘I don’t trust any of them,’ was Russell’s instinctive response. ‘But if I had to choose between him and Nemedin — and I probably will — it would be Shchepkin every time. He’s still recognisably human.’
‘So we wait,’ Effi said. They were whispering in bed, ears cocked for any indication that Rosa was no longer fast asleep.
‘We wait for the Americans, but whatever they say I’ll be going — the Soviets will still want me there to check up on the comrades.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
The feeling of relief was intense, but did nothing to dispel the accompanying anxiety. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ he asked her.
‘Don’t you want me to?’
‘Of course I do. I just… I just worry. Berlin sounds like hell on earth at the moment, and God knows how difficult the Russians are going to be. At least…’
‘But it can’t be as bad as the last few weeks of the war. They’re not still bombing the place, are they?’
‘No, but…’
‘The only question in my mind is whether or not we take Rosa,’ Effi insisted.
‘Well…’ Russell thought about offering an opinion, and realised two things. One, that he could see advantages to both options, and two, that this was a decision that Effi would — and should — take on her own.
‘The film offer came today,’ she told him. ‘A motorcycle courier brought it.’
‘Did you look through it yet?’
‘A quick look, yes. It’s not the script, just an outline, but there was a list of the people involved. You remember Ernst Dufring? I always liked his work, and apparently he’s back from America. And the storyline seems intelligent — it’s about how the members of one family come to terms with what happened under the Nazis, and the various compromises they have to make as individuals. In fact it’s more than intelligent. It actually sounds worthwhile.’
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Russell wished he could say the same for what the Russians had planned for him.
‘We need to talk to Zarah and Paul,’ Effi went on.
‘Together or separately?’
‘Together, but without the children. Tomorrow night?’
‘Paul’s out tomorrow. He’s going to see a Bogart film. He didn’t actually say so, but I think he’s going with Solly’s secretary.’
‘No!’ Effi said, almost leaping up in bed.
‘I think so.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Let’s hope. But the family conference will have to wait until Friday.’
The next two days were cold and rainy. Russell went out walking whenever the rain slackened, and read when forced back indoors. No matter how many times he analysed his situation, he came to the same depressing conclusions. And Shchepkin’s hope of eventually getting them out from under seemed more fanciful with each day that passed. It would, Russell thought, take another Russian Revolution to set the two of them free.
